Little Wholock Chap Mark 20
by The One with Purple Headphones
Summary: A rewrite of one of my previous fan fictions, this is in no way a sequel so just read this. The Doctor and John seem to have regressed back into childhood with only Sherlock left to take care of them. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So this is a rewrite of one of my previous ****tics called Little Wholock. This is in no way a sequel so feel free to read without the fear of ruining anything. This version 2.0 I am much happier with and have actually planned what will happen next. I hope you enjoy this...**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, okay I said it so leave me alone! **

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Panting slightly Dr. John Watson addressed the Doctor, whom he was almost certain had absolutely no medical training "So those are slitheen."

"Yep."

John bobbed his head slightly. "Okay," had a second's quiet contemplation and then remarked "Sherlock, we need to pick up milk on the way home, of and maybe some vinegar for precaution." The Doctor regarded the (much) younger man with a strange look. This wasn't how humans normally reacted. Perhaps it was the shock.

"What..? No remark about how terrifying that ordeal was? No words of utter astonishment at my brilliance?" He looked sadder then a weeping angel, weeping.

"Well besides the fact that my brother Mycroft has introduced us to Unit, this is hardly the first time I've met you, of course you were older at the time and wore Doc Martens." Sherlock said obviously bored. "Come along John." With a turn and swish of that famous coat, the consulting detective strode off.

"But… but… I…" the Doctor began but gave up. John however was having none of that.

"Sherlock." He said as one would say to a misbehaving child. The dectective turned slightly at his name but continued on. "Sherlock come back now!" Through clenched teeth and even more clenched fists the ex soldier was now positively dripping with anger despite the calm tone of his voice.

Sherlock knew this meant danger. A long time ago he learnt the quieter John was the more likely he was to shoot you. A loud, shouting John, well he would be done ranting in a few minutes but a quiet and calm John. Sherlock shivered it wasn't even worth thinking about.

Choosing safety over pride he trudged back to the mundane street corner. John still looked angry though. "Apologize now." Sherlock scanned the smaller man for any hint of surrender. None came.

"But Jawn…"

"Now."

Turning swiftly to face the apparent alien, Sherlock rounded on the timelord with a look of exasperation. "I have just been informed by my colleague" Sherlock started stiffly "that what I just did was a bit not good. I apologize for whatever it is I have done." With that he looked at Dr. Watson as if to say "so there".

"Is he always like this?" the Doctor remarked.

John was just about to reply when a bone-grinding jolt of pain racked his entire body. "Ughh. I think I need to sit down." And with that John Watson collapsed on the pavement followed swiftly by the doctor.

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Sherlock was a bit confused truth be told, and that wasn't something that happened often. Nor something Sherlock would ever happily admit.

Of all the possibilities following this encounter this was not one of the situations Sherlock though he would be in. Heck, a host of Gold medal winning Olympians abducting him and John had been higher up on the list of possible scenarios had been higher up on the patented 'What Could Happen To John And Myself After A Case' list. Not both of his companions collapsing onto the cold pavement bellow.

What could Sherlock possibly do? Had John been in this situation he would have taken charge and everything would have been okay, but currently he was indisposed. Being too busy unconscious to help his flat mate. How inconsiderate of him. Now obviously the first course of action was to see if they could be woken up.

"John can you hear me? John?" Sherlock kicked his friend lightly with his foot. "Vatican Cameos! John! Wake up!" Now people were starting to stare.

A cab came around the corner and instinctively Sherlock stuck his hand out. It stopped in front of him.

"221b Baker Street. My friends have…um had a little too much to drink. Can you help me to get them in?"

"Sure mate, we've all been there." Sherlock was glad the cabbie was obviously too preoccupied to notice the lack of alcoholic scent clinging to his two friends. _Divorced, wait no in middle of a divorce. Two daughters, one is taking drugs that he pays for. The other is the black sheep of the family, good grades but isn't loved. Small dog._

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After succeeding in getting John and the Doctor into the cab, and carrying them upstairs Sherlock collapsed into his chair by the fireplace. John was draped safely across his chair and the Doctor's raggedy form was splayed across the sofa.

He supposed that now would be the time to call an ambulance but really they seemed fine. The Doctor and John seemed to be both breathing and their pulses seemed normal. If it weren't for the fact they'd both collapsed on the pavement, Sherlock would have just thought they were asleep.

He got up to make some tea for himself and the two unconscious forms in the living room. As the hero of any good British TV show/Movie/Book would Sherlock knew that a cup of tea could solve most if not every single problem. Despite just being a cup of hot water with dead leaves mixed in.

An hour later Sherlock did the same thing and next to his 'friends' cold mugs of tea was placed another steaming hot mug. It went on like this for a few hours. By the end of it Sherlock had made in grand total 21 cups of tea. He was a bit surprised that they had so many mugs truth be told.

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Watching the Doctor and John, Sherlock couldn't help reminiscing over the past year and a half. How he had both managed to make a friend and stay friends was still a bit of a mystery. He supposed John must be made of sturdier stuff then he gave the man credit for.

Wait, was it just him or were they shrinking? The lanky form of the doctor seemed smaller and less lanky. Whilst John, well John just looked a bit like a hobbit (minus the pointy ears and large feet). No they really were shrinking!

"Stop shrinking!" Sherlock shouted constantly turning not exactly sure where to look. "John listen to me! If you don't stop shrinking right now you will be a hobbit!" Sherlock was really starting to lose control now.

Eventually the pair did stop, but not before Sherlock could hardly see his friends. In the place of John were a bundle of clothes with a small lump of something inside and the same was true with the Doctor. Bow tie, shirt, trousers and jacket piled on top of each other small form inside.

Sherlock slowly reached for the pile that had once been his former flat mate, gently moving some of the clothes aside to see what was in the middle. A small head poked out and Sherlock backed away slowly towards the clothes of the Doctor. Reaching gently towards the pile he moved some of the doctors clothes and there was a small sleeping child tangled up (luckily somehow his pants had also managed to shrink with him) in the clothes.

What had happened to John Watson and the Doctor?

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**Another Author's Note (you just can't get rid of me can you?): so, I hoped you liked it. A review would be nice, tell me if you liked it or if you hated it, tell me how I could improve. But of course that's optional. I am planning on updating this every Friday evening/ Saturday morning depending on how busy my week is.**

**ONE WITH PURPLE HEADPHONES OUT!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So yay, new chapter! But I just want to say thank you because since I posted the first chapter there has been so much positive ****response! It's lovely, I had no idea how many people liked this story. And without any further ado here is the next chapter:**

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Sherlock's mind was racing. His whole mind palace was in chaos sirens wailing, lights flashing and walls shaking. Racing through rooms that were collapsing around him, Sherlock found his way to Sherlock's Panic Room (patented, thank you very much) to calm down. Finding the comforting green door he slipped inside and left the chaos outside.

Now what is the first thing you'd expect of a panic room? Hold the image in your head. Keep thinking about it. You are wrong. It looks nothing like that. Is that really what you think of when you think of a panic room? Wow, glad I'm not in your mind. Now what you imagined is the opposite too what was in Sherlock's room. No bars of emergency chocolate, no cushions, no panic buttons, no cute photos of kittens, nothing comforting at all really.

It was a round room, no windows and only a faint outline of light where the door used to be after being shut. The walls were painted with black chalk paint and buckets of chalk stood in useful and accessible places. On one of the walls there was also a pin board that was curved to fit on the unusual surface. There was also a copy of 221b Baker Street's infamous sofa. As well as some large friendly letters painted on the surface, taking up about one and a half meters of space that read: Don't Panic. It didn't really help to be honest.

The door shut behind Sherlock emitting a familiar and comforting whoosh as the door was absorbed back into the wall. All that was left was a faint glow of light around the doorframe. He reached for a piece of chalk and got to work.

*Writing in chalk*

_Problem: John and the Doctor are children_

_Solution: Stop John and the Doctor from being children_

_How to get to solution: Wait for them to grow up._

No that would take to long and be really boring. Sherlock crossed it out, sighting.

_How to get to solution:__ Try to reverse change_

Much better, but what to do in the meantime?

_Present: Take care of John and the Doctor._

Now, here was the real problem. Sherlock didn't know a thing about children, besides the fact he didn't exactly like them he had also deleted everything about what they needed or liked. It looked like it was time for some research.

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Sherlock placed his hand on the patch of wall where the door had been swallowed, it swung open a bit like an airlock. He ran to the entrance, a task that was much easier due to the lack of a panicking Sherlock. The sirens and lights had stopped although there were still a few tremors here and there but at least chunks weren't falling out of the ceiling and corridors anymore.

He reached the drawbridge and moat (it was a castle after all) pausing only to lower it with a flick of his wrist. Sherlock sprinted across back into the waking world.

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Okay, check clock. Good I've only been away for 30 seconds, Sherlock mumbled to himself. He checked on the two children too. John looked about four or five, and had tufty blond hair, and was well, incredibly small, sweet and innocent. How did he become the man he was today, or rather an hour or two ago? Sherlock gently picked up John and carried him over to the sofa with the Doctor who was also luckily still asleep. Carefully he put down John next to the alien.

The Doctor had lots of floppy brown hair. Honestly, Sherlock couldn't even see his face there was so much hair in the way. But he looked to be about the same age as John although at least a few inches taller.

Sighing Sherlock looked through the mess of a flat for his laptop, not being able to find it he grabbed John's instead. He typed in the password SherlockIsANosyIdiot and opened up Safari.

Sherlock typed into the search engine: help my flatmate has been turned into a child what do I do? He didn't find anything helpful needless to say. He tried again: man turned into child. Nothing helpful was found here either. Finally he tried: how to look after 5 year olds. Now that was more like it, there were pages of stuff dedicated to parenthood. For the next hour Sherlock poured over sites consuming information like John could consume tea. That is too say, quickly and in large quantities.

Now, Sherlock like any good fangirl could pour over the Internet for hours once he found something interesting and would have continued all night if it were not for a small hand tugging on his trousers.

"Sherlock!" Sherlock looked down to find himself into the blue eyes of his former flat mate. Wow, he was kinda adorable to tell the truth, Sherlock thought to himself. Though he really needed some clothes. Sherlock bent down to John.

"Jawn, do you know who you are?"

"Yes, I'm John Watson and I'm four and a half years old!" All the smiles in the world could not contain the pure joy that John displayed when proclaiming his name and age.

"Do you know who I am?" Sherlock continued to question.

"Um, you're Sherlock…uh something and… um" So basically no.

The Doctor then woke up and came to see what the fuss was about.

"What's going on?"

"Doctor, do you know who you are?"

"Yes, of course I do. I'm… actually I can't say my name cause well…reasons but I'm sorta called the Doctor or the oncoming storm...and I'm 90 years old."

"Okay, do you know who I am or where you are?"

"I'm on planet… uh…" The doctor ran over to a wall and licked it "Planet Earth! But I'm not really sure where…"

Great, Sherlock was now trapped with a four year old and a 90 year old who didn't even know who he was or where they were. Things couldn't get worse could they?

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**Author's Second Note: Hi, I'm back. So as I am now on holiday for two weeks, thank the glow cloud, I may be able to post an extra chapter next week. No promises though.**

**One With Purple Headphones Out!**


	3. Chapter 3

Things could get worse apparently. Sherlock realized this after an hour and 2 minutes alone with the two tiny terrors.

The pair had managed to almost destroy all of Baker Street after mixing chemicals together the Doctor and John had found on the kitchen table, knock over a bookcase, play football with Herman (Sherlock's skull) and scribble more smiley faces across the flat. Not to mention what they did to Sherlock's sock index.

Enough was enough though and Sherlock had had it up to here.

"No Jawn, stop!" He pulled the clingy child away from the oven and set him a safe distance away. "Doctor, what are you doing? Ahhhhh!" The Doctor meanwhile had managed to pour cold water across the annoyed Consulting Detective and John.

"I'm cold Sherwock." Now he realized his mistake, somehow with all the other things Sherlock had to worry about clothes had not even crossed his mind. The boys wore pants but that was all. It seemed a shopping trip was in order.

Line Break

Sherlock bundled the two in some shirts and trousers he had done an experiment on causing them to shrink to five-year-old size, at least that's what he had told John yesterday before this whole mess started. In fact he'd just left them in the washing machine for too long. But now he used that mistake to clothe his former flatmate and the alien.

John ended up in a pair of his old shrunken jeans and one of Sherlock's pajama T-shirts. The Doctor ended up with a shrunken pair of Sherlock's pajama bottoms and one of Sherlock's shrunken shirts. They would have to just wear socks for now, as there were no shoes available. The two boys looked just a tiny bit odd.

He pushed John and the Doctor outside and hailed a cab.

"Nearest department store, please." The cabbie grunted in return.

Line break

"Okay if you two are good and help me get this done quickly I'll buy you…um… oh an ice cream!" The Doctor and John looked at each other before nodding.

"Deal!" Sherlock looked visibly relived. They were standing in the children's section of John Lewis and already he was in a nightmare. Everywhere he looked there was a screaming child, a bargaining parent or a sullen teen. The floor was sticky underfoot and had attracted a repulsive smell like too much food had been dropped for it to ever become clean again.

"Okay, let's find some clothes."

The boys ran through the aisles screaming and cheering, occasionally knocking down a display or innocent shopper. Sherlock didn't even know what clothes they needed let alone how to control them. Luckily for him a shop assistant had spotted his plight.

"Are you okay sir?" she asked as she wandered over. Sherlock deduced she had two, no three children and her husband was currently having an affair. The nametag read Susan.

"I'm not okay actually…" Sherlock flashed his most winning smile, the one that said how could you even think I could ever be a psychopath, the one that made Molly Hooper go weak at the knees and made Lestrade mutter angrily something along the lines of bastard. "I have to look after my two nephews, but all their clothes went missing on the train. Do you know what I should buy?" If he did say so himself Sherlock thought the cover story was pretty good.

"Are they the two running round screaming bloody murder?"

"That's the two."

"Okay lets see what we can do for you."


End file.
